


A Badly Built Box

by Lizardbeth



Series: The Last Contract [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Developing Friendships, Gen, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: Tony Stark gets a letter from Crown Prince Loki of Jotunheim that his new game system is garbage. He's gotta meet this kid.
Relationships: Loki & Tony Stark
Series: The Last Contract [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/943608
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	A Badly Built Box

**Author's Note:**

> Anon at Tumblr requested "before the begining" at a random fic, so I rolled the dice and it came up with The Last Contract. 
> 
> This is an indulgent prequel of how these two buds met when Loki was just a surly teenager in Jotunheim (replacing Norway in our geography, sorry Norway) and Tony a young CEO who would rather be doing anything else.
> 
> (and for those who have read Last Contract, Loki's not quite as fluent here as he will be. That's on purpose).

* * *

Tony raised his eyebrows at the envelope on the top of his mail. Unlike the rest of his mail, which the assistants opened to check if it was something worth his time, this one was still sealed. 

The envelope was addressed, apparently by hand, to him, personal and confidential. Which was not a surprise. The surprise was that it had been hand-delivered by the Jotunheim consul-general and bore the embossed lettering of the Royal Crown of Jotunheim.

Since he barely knew where Jotunheim was, and he knew he had nothing to do with anything there-- certainly nothing 'personal and confidential' - he was curious. Maybe it was a prank of some kind, though the official consular affairs messenger made that unlikely. 

He used the letter opener and carefully cut the side, pulling out a single sheet of paper. 

It was official letterhead - From the desk of Loki Laufeyson, Crown Prince of Jotunheim, and apparently signed by him, personally, whoever he was. 

The letter was short and to the point: 

_Dear Mister Stark,_

_Because no one will tell you the truth when Stark Enterprises owns the media and everyone is lauding this new monstrosity as 'the next big thing', I will inform you of the truth. Your StarxBox is a piece of shit. This is unfortunate because the physical design of the system is striking, but the fundamentals are terrible. The core processor is too slow, the memory available is inadequate, the rendering therefore is painfully slow and the games available for beta are garbage. Whoever decided it was ready to launch should be fired._

_Other than that, your company's products seem well-designed. Please do not take my criticism personally (unless you are the fool who decided it was ready for launch, in which case, you should allow someone else with more skill to make decisions in this area); but I hope for improvement in the final product._

_Yours most sincerely,_

_Loki Laufeyson_

Tony laughed so hard he thought he might choke, and had to wave off three concerned staff before he could regain his breath.. 

"JARVIS," he asked the AI, "run down Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim." 

A projection appeared on the wall, of a young man with a pale face, rather sullen expression, and black unruly hair. "Loki Laufeyson, Crown Prince of Jotunheim. Only child of its current monarch."

Tony scanned the info, "Wait, he's only 16! Jesus. I gotta meet this kid." 

It wasn't hard to get the number for the consular office in Los Angeles and thereafter throw his name around to get the consular attache on the line. "I received the prince's letter and I'd really like to meet him in person. I'm willing to fly to Jotunheim if that can be arranged?"

There was a moment of silence before the consul said in his very correct English with the accent, "I will, of course, send your request to the crown, Mister Stark. His Majesty's staff will make arrangements." 

_Don't call us, we'll call you_ , which made Tony smile a bit, since he was usually the one saying those words, not hearing them. But old school royalty had etiquette, and Tony was going to have to be the nouveau riche plebe looking for an audience.

Then he hooked up the game system and turned it on and almost immediately realized the prince was correct. The stuff Tony had always seen before - the cut scenes and the simulated play - had never been the real product, and it was irksome to realize how duped he had allowed himself to be. That it had taken some kid in a foreign country playing on a beta version to let him know what a quality control problem he had.

The next thing he did was call StarxGame Division head. The man was not delighted to hear from his mostly-absentee Chairman and he was especially not delighted to hear Tony's order to have StarxBox launch delayed, and then read the letter to him finishing up with: "I want your proposal to fix this on my desk in three days, or You and everyone down to the coffee guy are fired so I can find someone else to fix it." And he hung up. That was more satisfying.

It took a few days to get the call, but by then he'd familiarized himself with everything he could about the small oil-rich kingdom, its history, its mostly but not entirely ceremonial monarchy, and the personal life of its sole heir. Tony's heart gave a sympathetic twinge reading the words that his mother had died of cancer only two years before. Apparently royalty couldn't avoid having shit happen to them, too. He was friends with Prince Thor of Asgard, who was near his own age, and they seemed to get photographed near Monaco often enough Tony wondered he'd never crossed paths.

And, more interestingly, there was a notation in one of the gossip rags gushing that he was a genius. Tony was at first rolling his eyes at that, since he certainly wouldn't be the first prince or famous person gushed over by the tabloids, but there was another note that he attended an accelerated program. So at least he was smart, even if he wasn't tinkering a new robot in his twelve-car-garage.

So by the time the royal assistant called him, he was even more eager to meet the kid, who sounded rather like a sympatico personality, if Tony could judge between the give-no-fucks letter and the information in his bio.

"I am Maxine Leftler, King Laufey's personal assistant, Mister Stark. You expressed a desire to meet the prince?"

"Yes, he wrote me a letter about my StarxBox and I wanted to have a talk with him. I've never been to Jotunheim, so it seemed like a good reason to travel and see some sights and meet with him, if he's willing."

"Certainly," she said, and after a moment added, more carefully, "The prince thought you might be angered, by the letter?"

"Because he told me my product was a piece of shit?" Tony laughed then realized what he's said in her ear. "Oh, sorry, but that's exactly what he said, And he was right. So I want to tell him thank you. He probably saved StarxGames because I had no idea the box was so bad." 

"Ah. I am glad you found no offense. He has some... impatience with incompetence, as does his father," she said, choosing her words, but sounding relieved and a bit amused, as well. 

"That's good. So do I."

'The prince would be happy to meet with you, when you've arrived in Utgard. He's at home for the remainder of the summer and the schedule is more relaxed. We will know when you arrive, of course, but contact me then and we will make arrangements." 

"That's great. Thank you. Tell him I look forward to meeting him." 

He hung up and tossed the phone to the table top, and went to find the secretary and make arrangements to go to Utgard. 

* * *

It took a week extra to deal with forcing the Starxbox delayed launch down everyone's throats including Obadiah's. He found the prince's letter a perfect weapon and took to carrying it and slamming it down in meetings after he read it aloud. "The only person who has played a beta copy and has been _honest_ is a 16 year old prince of a country the size of fucking New Jersey! But he won't be the only one unhappy if this gets to market. And I'm certainly not happy about my _name_ being on _garbage_. Stark Enterprises does not make - and will not make - garbage while this is still my company."

Five resignations and two firings later, he had his way, even if several people remained unhappy with the decision. He knew the system would be the better for the change so he didn't really care. 

But finally he thought it was sorted enough to go thank the kid who might have single-handedly saved the Stark reputation for quality electronics and was in his plane on the way to Utgard.

At the airport, the agent took his passport and asked him the standard questions while scanning the passport, though she obviously recognized his name, then a notation came up on her screen. Fine blonde brows twitched as she read it. "Oh." She pulled out another device from her drawer and embossed something on the page. 

"What's that?" he asked curiously.

"Royal seal," she explained. "The king gives welcome to you during your visit." At his confusion, she smiled. "It is old custom. For guests." 

"Like diplomatic immunity?" 

Her smile widened. "Not so nice. Enjoy your stay, Mister Stark." She set the passport on the counter and he very nearly asked if she was free that evening, but grabbed the passport and his bag and moved along. 

It was a nice seal that matched the one on the envelope. It made the rest of the stamps look shabby. 

The rental car counter was quick to take him to his Porsche, and he was off toward town center. The palace was pretty enough but not especially imposing, and he wondered if the prince was in there, right now. Probably not, didn't they do things like open new bridges and visit daycares? Things like that. 

The hotel wasn't far from the opera house and legislature building, and the park that ran between them and up to the palace. He handed the key to the valet and a bunch of cash in the bright colored money these people used and told him to keep it close, in case he had a meeting. At the desk inside, the tall blonde man who could be the twin of the passport agent smiled a welcome. "Mister Stark, welcome, The suite is prepared as your staff directed. And I can have your luggage taken up directly. I need only your signature and the passport to copy." 

He signed with the pen left on the counter for him, and the clerk stepped out, waving the bellhop to get his luggage. "This way." 

"I need to telephone Maxine uh, something, the king's personal assistant about my arrival," he said in the lift. 

"I have the number, sir. I can make the call for you and put it through to your room when she is on the line. Please." He gestured to go right off the lift, to the double doors and opened it with a key card. 

Typical European luxury suite with a four-poster bed, seating area and attached bathroom nearly the same size as the bedroom. There was water and liquor on the bar, with a welcome basket of local snacks. 

"Would you like Henry to unpack for you?" the clerk asked, laying the key card on the desk. Someone had made sure the staff didn't hand Tony things, he noticed gratefully. That was always awkward.

"No, I've got it, thanks." 

"If there's anything else, please do not hesitate to telephone us. I will go contact the palace for you." The clerk nodded his head and ushered the bellhop out, and Tony failed to offer money quickly enough before they were gone.

He ripped into a packet of crackers and went out on the small balcony to overlook the street and the beautiful view of the palace and gardens. The palace was, no doubt, older than the LA house - which had been built by one of his grandfather's stars back in the early days of Hollywood. Probably this hotel was older than that too, though European stuff had tended to burn in various wars and be more new than they might seem.

Some might like the history, but he thought it was probably more like chain, weighing them down. He'd take one modern building for ten of these cookie cutter hotels that were the same from here to Vienna. 

The in-room phone made a funny chirping ring and he went back in to answer it. "Stark." 

"This is the front desk, Mister Stark. I have Maxine Leftler on the line from the palace." 

"Thank you." 

"One moment, sir." Then he said something in the local tongue and there was a click as he disengaged.

The familiar woman's voice from before, "Mister Stark. Welcome to Jotunheim. You... came quickly."

"Is that a problem? I didn't think we were talking about visiting months from now." 

"No, not at all. No problem. His Highness is at home and he would pleased to offer you luncheon tomorrow, if that is acceptable?"

"Of course." He waited, expecting to be told there would be a car sent or he could drive to the palace, but instead, she said,

"There is an outdoor cafe next to the Royal Museum, which is a short walk from your hotel to the south. The prince and I will meet you there, at noon." 

Tony's eyebrows went up, surprised. The museum restaurant? All right, if that's what he wanted. "Great. I look forward to it." 

"As do I, Mister Stark. Have a good evening." She hung up and he wandered back onto the balcony to look at the palace. Maybe he could wrangle a visit? He'd like to see the interior, even if it was all stuffy and old.

Interesting the kid or a handler had chosen that place. Maybe they figured it was a place Tony Stark would like and were trying to be hospitable? He doubted it was the prince's favorite restaurant - how many teenagers would want to go to a museum in the first place? Hell, he might not have ever been there before. But it sounded like a place the 'assistant' liked for lunch, so maybe that was all it was. 

But he had his own time, and went down to the concierge to figure out what he should do between now and lunch tomorrow.

* * *

Brydda had been delightful, especially her dancing and ridiculously pale grey eyes, but Tony was just as glad she left with a smile in the morning. He checked email and his phone and decided to go for a run around the garden and see the palace a little closer. 

There was definitely a hard perimeter, he noticed. The fancy iron-wrought gates were open to allow people to wander the grounds and there was a line forming at the outer gate where there was a kiosk selling tickets and a guidebook. But there was another fence inside that, nearer the palace, that was not original, and he noticed cameras tucked inconspicuously among the trees. 

But the queue made him realize there were tours for the interior of the palace, so perhaps the prince didn't actually live there. He bought a guidebook in English and scanned it while walking back to the hotel. Ah, in the summer tourist season the family vacated the palace to "allow citizens and visitors an opportunity to see the ancestral patrimony". Given the tickets weren't free, it also seemed a way to make money by selling tours and merchandise that was used for palace upkeep. Tony decided he was going to pick up the lunch check, since he wasn't a house poor royal.

There was a formal portrait picture of both king and son in the booklet and a separate, less formal one of the late queen, who had been quite a looker of the sneaks-up-on-you-beautiful type and her expression in the picture seemed poised to laugh. Just looking at the photo, Tony could feel the loss that had torn the heart out of their family.

It didn't say where father and son were actually in residence, but he figured it couldn't be too far away, if there were events they had to attend in the capital. 

Back at the hotel, he waved off staff and went to shower and change. Museum restaurant and outdoors suggested casual, but... small country royalty? A teenager? Should he dress to be 'cool' or should he dress to be respectful? Jotunheim was still a customer, since StarkArms sold them tactical gear, and presumably the kid had his dad's ear. 

He shrugged. In the end, there was only so many outfits he'd brought with him, and the AC/DC shirt was probably a little too informal, even for a notoriously American heir to fame and fortune. Black slacks, black running shoes, yellow Polo, and linen jacket. Sunglasses, phone, and keycard and he was ready. 

The restaurant was easy to find and he took off his sunglasses at the podium. "I'm meeting someone. I'm Tony Stark." 

The woman - another one out of the local cloning factory - had her eyes widen in realization. "Sir. This way." She led him to a table set a bit apart from others, next to the rose bushes along one side. There was a woman there seated, though she came to her feet when she saw him coming their way and a young man with short, slicked black hair, and a black t-shirt and sunglasses. 

There was also, Tony noticed and only because he had bodyguards too sometimes, a very tall, very fit man lingering on the other side of the rosebushes with a suit jacket and an ear piece, his eyes sliding across Tony to inspect the tourists dining and then to look out to the park.

The boy stood up as well, more polite than Tony had been at that age. And he towered over Tony already, at least six foot, with that skinniness of growing too fast. "Mister Stark." 

And before Tony could return the greeting, or even be sure what he should say, he noticed the front of the boy's shirt was ... Metallica, and he let out a laugh. "Oh my god, I was this close to wearing my AC/DC shirt, and I didn't. Should've trusted my instincts. And please, just Tony. I'm not that much older than you are."

"Loki," he said, easing Tony's mind that he was going to have to bow or "highness" him or whatever else foreigners did. "And this is Maxine," he introduced. "My minder for the afternoon." 

She gave him a disapproving look. "Mister Stark is an important guest to our country." She shook his hand.

"Please, sit," the boy offered and sat down, to allow the waiter to come up and bestow menus and take Tony's drink order. 

Tony leaned in closer to murmur once he'd gone. "So how many people here know who you are?"

Loki shrugged. "Probably everyone. Except tourists." 

"That's what I figured. That's why I was surprised you'd want to meet outside." 

"We get two months of sun," Loki said. "Everyone goes outside." 

"Oh, right. I'd forgotten that part. You have to make up for all the winter darkness." And not that he was complaining, but the girls really did like short skirts and halters in this place. He was one of four people in view, including the bodyguard, wearing long sleeves of any kind. 

"Only tourists don't understand the boundaries," Maxine added, sipping her water. "They want autographs. Photos. Things like that." 

"Which I don't mind," Loki added, in a tone of begrudging acceptance which was not exactly the same thing as 'not minding' but Tony wasn't going to argue the point, "but..., well, you get your share I think. So you know. I will enjoy school very much." 

"School?" Tony asked.

"University. Cambridge," he explained. "No one will know me, no duties, just..." he glanced at Maxine and added, "don't get in trouble." 

"Well, get in a _little_ trouble," Tony leaned forward and advised in a whisper, "It's much more fun that way." 

That made Loki smile for the first time genuinely, and then he glanced at Maxine and the smile disappeared as if he wasn't supposed to show amusement. Which made Tony perversely determined to do the opposite.

"You should come to MIT, that was my school. It was a blast. And I mean I blew up a lab. And built a robot I still have, by the way." 

"That sounds fun," Loki said, perking up with interest. "What kind of robot?" 

"A utility arm. DUM-E does a lot to help me in fabrications of my side projects."

Surprisingly pale eyes in all that black hair looked at him with a faint smile curling his mouth. "But not your StarxBox." 

Tony heaved a sigh. "No. I had nothing to do with that. Unfortunately or I would've caught it. But," he seized his beer in one hand and held it out in toast, "to you. Thank you for the warning. The console is now six months delayed, and everyone in PR hates me, but screw 'em, because you were absolutely right. It was shit, and if it had gone to release it would've tanked." 

Loki clinked his soda glass on Tony's. "You are welcome." 

The waiter came up with a gesture of Maxine's and took their order for lunch. It was interesting being on the other side, observing. Normally the staff would be obsequious to him, knowing who he was and he had the money, but here, the waiter didn't care about Tony at all, but he was definitely aware of that his crown prince was sitting there and wasn't quite sure what to do except be stiffly formal. 

Maxine's job as buffer was more obvious then, too, intervening to move the encounter along, though Tony didn't understand the language. 

After the waiter was sent away with explicit instructions not to make anything different, Loki sighed. "They will try to make it fancy. They always do, even when I tell them not to. I don't care. I want only fries, but," he shrugged in a 'what can I do' manner.

"They want to be nice. Which is a good thing. Better than spitting in your soup," Tony joked. Maxine looked appalled at the thought, but Loki flashed a smile. 

"They might do that, too. How would I know?" he replied lightly.

Tony didn't think it seemed too likely from what he'd read. Both father and son were generally popular in the country, and the anti-royalty politicians seemed polite about it. It probably helped the family was so small-- one king, one prince, two cousins, seemed the extent of it. 

"Speaking of, you should greet once we eat," Maxine murmured to Loki. "Since you are in public."

"I know," he answered, sounding impatient and very teenager about it.

"What's that?" Tony asked. 

"Greeting," Loki explained. "Visit tables. I am young and approachable." He rolled his eyes at that, as if he were quoting someone else, but Tony understood the PR aspect of it. He was the heir to the Chairman of Royalty Enterprises, and that meant pressing the flesh.

"I remember that," Tony said with a grimace. "Lucky I can be rich and eccentric and rude." 

"You do not depend on the people's good will," Loki pointed out. "I do. Not all the way, but I admit it will be some relief to go to university where no one knows. Or cares."

Tony was less sure of that, that no one would care, but at least his behavior wouldn't immediately reflect on the crown. "It's harder when you're younger," Tony offered in sympathy. "It gets easier. At least I found it did when I didn't have to depend on other people so much. It was just me. Win or lose, pass or fail, it was mine."

Of coure the perils got bigger later - drinking, drugs, partying - but he had a feeling this young man knew about those already. 

The food came then, presented to Loki first to be accepted, and then the others, and as soon as the staff had gone, he looked down at his plate with a wry look. "I told you."

Tony chuckled, because he'd been right - the prince's plate held both a flower garnish and an attempt at fancy swirl with the sauce for the french fries. 

But he ate it just fine, packing it away like any other teenage boy. Tony wasn't sure about the fish paste thing Maxine had ordered for him as a 'taste of Jotunheim' but it was edible. As the conversation lagged, he asked curiously, "So why _did_ you write me? It's not your brand. Not your problem if it's bad." 

Loki toyed with a fry, trying to think of the words. "I think, because I wanted it to be good. I have a StarkTablet. It is very good. I thought the game system would be the same. And it was... not. It was wrong-- no, it was _offensive_ that it was so bad. And I thought you must not know. I know how people tell what they want you to hear-- always Father complains of this and we do little compared to you. I thought that happened with the box, so I would tell what you _should_ hear. And using my title and official message would get attention."

Tony nodded and chuckled in wry appreciation. "Sure did. The staff didn't even open it, it looked so official. Well-played." 

Loki leaned back in his chair, and gave the faintest smirk of satisfaction at the compliment.. 

"So are you really a genius?" Tony asked. "Because you can join my club, if so, but if it's just some fluff piece in the papers that you're slightly smarter than average..."

"I'm good at math," he answered with a shrug. "Always have been. I like it. Other than that, no."

"Oh really. Math. You have a pen?" 

Maxine provided one and he wrote a problem on one of the napkins. "Okay, smart guy. Solve it."

He didn't pick up the pen. "You are not my teacher. And I need prove nothing to you."

Which was true, but not the point. "C'mon, I want people in my club. People I can talk to who aren't dumb as a pile of bricks. Please. Just look at it." 

His gaze dropped to it, tilted his head and then his black brows drew together. "I think you are not remembering the problem correctly. Because this makes no sense." 

"YES!" Tony exclaimed loudly, spreading his hands in enthusiasm. "FINALLY. Someone else sees it." 

The frown drew tighter in confusion, and then he laughed. "You gave me a fake problem to see if I would solve it anyway?" 

"Someone gave that to me," Tony said. "Insisting it should work. So now I use it as a test. Congrats, you passed." In impressive fashion, in less time than Tony had taken himself to note it was wrong. 

"And for this I get?" 

Tony held up his bank card. "Me treating you for lunch, for one thing."

"But you are my guest!" Loki objected, managing to sound scandalized. 

"You probably saved me a billion dollars in game revenue. I can pay for lunch." He noticed Maxine nod to the server to take the card from him to run in the little machine they all carried. He signed with his finger. "No receipt necessary." 

"Would you care to see the museum?" Loki invited. "I can be a tour guide."

"Not much into museums, honestly. Can I see the palace? We're kind of lacking in those in America, as you know." 

He murmured to Maxine who got up and gestured the guard over to talk briefly and then she came back. "That's fine." 

Before leaving, Loki had to do his meet-n-greet, which he did with a learned grace, going from table to table if anyone wished to speak with him. Many selfies were taken, many smiles were given, and many young ladies were extremely interested, but he was equally polite to all and was careful to touch none of them.

Then they were free and made an odd foursome, counting the body guard, to wander in the park. Maxine and the guard hung behind, and here Loki seemed to have more anonymity in his casual clothes and sunglasses. 

They talked of school and that Loki was intending to study physics, since he enjoyed it and it worked well with his math. "Father of course wishes business or something more practical, but my mother told me that while birth determined my duty, it does not have to define my passions. So I will study what I wish." 

"Take it from someone who had to be in business, when I'd rather be doing engineering, it's not really all that great. But you probably shouldn't listen to someone who does what he wants," Tony warned. 

Loki slanted a look at him. "Why not? When I am old enough, I will do as I please, as well. This-" he waved a hand at the palace, "was not my choice. I would give it away."

"Really?" Tony asked, curious.

He turned his head just enough to check the position of his minders and added more quietly, "I would. But until there is someone else to take over, I would not either. My grandfather fought to preserve all of it in the war. I could not throw it away to be selfish."

Tony nodded, understanding. It was a different inheritance than being a Stark, but not that different. "Shame there wasn't an heir and a spare. I thought that was the royal thing?" 

Loki looked away. "Not by choice. The doctors told my mother it was dangerous. She was... sick."

"Oh, I'm sorry." He grimaced, realizing he'd put his foot in it, assuming Loki's mother had only been sick for a little while before her death. "I didn't mean to make light of a rough situation." 

"It's okay." He said the words but obviously wasn't okay, but he tried to shrug it off and changed the subject back to his inheritance. "Father can still remarry and have other kids. One of them might want it. And then I won't matter."

Tony had to scoff at that willful blindness. "One of the continent's future most eligible bachelors? You are gonna be so pursued, kid. Some girl is gonna want that glass slipper _very_ badly." 

"They already do," he answered glumly. 

Biting his lip so he wouldn't laugh, Tony offered his hard-won advice. "Most of them will be after the money. Or, title, in your case. But don't be afraid of that. Enjoy life when you're young. Time enough to settle down and get serious later." 

Loki didn't answer at first and then his lips quirked in amusement. "You are a bad influence."

"Just calling it like it is." 

The instant they passed the formal wrought-iron gates, he notice Loki's shoulders went square and he started to carry himself as if his father was watching. It was a bit endearing, though no teenage boy would want to be called that.

"So, is it original?" Tony asked, craning his head back to examine the facade.

"To 1794, yes. The history is somewhat... complex. My father's line in Jotunheim is old, but we were also united with the crown of Asgard in that time. So it was built in the fashion of the Winter Palace in St Petersburg, to flatter the czar. Our older crown properties are much less grand. Come this way; we go in the back."

Inside, there was a rather ordinary hall of offices, though several opened at their approach for guards to stand at attention for the prince as he walked past. Then up a staircase and Tony realized he was in the grand entrance hall, now the other side of the main doors. Lit by the sun through the upper floor windows, it was a welcome bright space, with utility carpets over the real ones fenced off with rope barriers, with a staircase at either end and the typical big portraits of former rulers.

Loki picked one staircase and went up. "You must understand that the Nazis looted most of the palace in the war. A few treasures were hidden and others returned, but many were lost. So the interior was modernized and refurnished. But they did not damage the ceilings, which are the main treasures that remain." He opened one of the tall doors, drawing back when he realized it was occupied by a tour group. Maxine immediately went through and shut the door behind her. A moment later, the door opened again and the group was gone.

Loki said nothing about it as he led Tony inside. "Molded and painted by hand." 

Tony looked upward at the plaster decoration and the painted scenes. "It's like Versailles."

Loki snorted. "How the French and the Hapsburgs needed such grand monstrosities, I cannot imagine."

Tony thought of his Malibu house, and all of that was for one person. "You might want more space when there are half-dozen little Loki-sons and Loki-daughters running around." 

The horrified look on his face was answer enough, and Tony laughed. 

Loki showed him a few other parlors, a rather spectacular mirrored dining room with formal china on display, and then - after being sure the group was not there - the actual throne room. Which was surprisingly small. On the other side of the rope barrier, there was a low dais, a high-backed, padded wooden chair beneath a silk canopy and two banners. A writing desk was to one side, a few chairs along the wall, and a fireplace at the far end. "That's it?"

"You expected it to be gold?" Loki asked, dry sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"I have better chairs, my friend. I can ship them to you." 

Loki gave a laugh, not offended, and then opened the rope. "Come. I will show what the tourists do not see." 

It was more modern and more comfortable in the private areas, and though Tony didn't want to say so, he thought he detected the late queen's touch in the warmth of the furnishings and small things like a small child's drawing framed on the wall.

There was a small dining room, and then an entertainment room with the Beta Starxbox sitting near the television. Tony glowered at it. "Piece of junk. I promise I will overnight the new version to you the second they make it. And I want your honest review."

"I will give it," Loki promised.

"Good. You wanna tear it apart? It'll be fun." 

Tempted, Loki flicked a glance at the clock on the end table. "I have two hours."

"Gotta open a daycare?" Tony asked, only mocking a little.

"National football team game," he answered, then added with a grin, "Father gets the ribbon cutting at the preschool." Tony barked a laugh, not sure if it was true or not, but it was funny either way.

They had a good time with the Starxbox, though the palace was under-equipped with tools. Maxine came in twice to see what they were doing, and then left, shaking her head. 

When they had the box rebuilt into a better system with parts scavenged from an old laptop and the extra memory card in Tony's phone, he folded his arms and nodded in satisfaction. "There. You've not cobbled stuff together much, I gather?"

"No," Loki said, his eyes a little wide from the experience. "A little with cars. But not like this, no." 

"Good. Because that's the real science. Don't listen to those boring jerks at school about what's possible. There's always a way. Just... tinker. Make stuff. Learn. That's what it's about." 

They climbed to their feet. "Well, you need to get ready, and I'm sure I've worn out my welcome by now with your minders. So I'll take my leave." 

"Thank you." He held out his hand for Tony to grasp. "I... learned a lot this afternoon." 

Tony shook it. "I'll send you the new box and meantime..." He took out his card and then hesitated, grimacing, "I forgot you're only sixteen. Is it weird if I say you're a friend? I don't want either of us to get in trouble and I'm still ten years older than you." 

Loki plucked the card from his hand and tucked it into his pocket. "You are trying to seduce me into science which my father will not approve, but he is not here and I can decide who my friends are." In that moment, Tony could see a hint of the king he might have been in older days. That confidence was going to take him places. "But yes, I must get ready. I will walk you downstairs, and one of the guards can let you out the side door." 

They didn't speak again on their way down and said brief farewells in front of others, but that was all right. As the son of Howard Stark, Tony had a great many acquaintances, but few friends. He thought the same was true of Loki, in a life bound even more in protocol than Tony's. But today they'd both found a new friend. 

And someday, Tony was going to give Loki a tour of his house and they could work on robots or AI or games or something even more awesome in the garage. The future was looking brighter already.

_end._


End file.
